It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry
by cats-tale
Summary: A three chapter fic that dovetails in with Heart & Flowers. It's set way back in the days when Gene was first married and it all began to go horribly wrong for him and the Missus. Rated M for ADULT CONTENT.
1. Lillian

**This fic dovetails with my main fic "Hearts & Flowers". If you haven't read that, it deals with certain events that are described in Chapters 30 & 31 – Gene's childhood and the early years of his marriage when it all starts to go horribly wrong for him and the Missus.**

**This was going to be a one-shot but as usual, the characters have had other ideas and it's now three chapters. **

**The title is taken from an angst-ridden track about infidelity and self-loathing by "Glasvegas" **

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He was grateful for the rain that poured from the sky that night. The raindrops hid the tears that he couldn't keep at bay any longer. He found himself down by one of the canals, more drunk than he'd possibly ever been, crying like some nancy-arsed poof; great tearing, snotty sobs that wrenched up from the heart of him. It was her birthday, her bloody birthday, and where was he?

With his mistress. No, she wasn't even that, she was just some silly tart he'd been shagging for the last few months, and had been stupid enough to get herself pregnant. Or that _he'd_ been stupid enough to get pregnant, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, it was over now, irrevocably over, and he had to learn to deal with it.

Gene lent back against the wall of the canal towpath and groped in his pockets for his cigarettes. Christ! How had he managed to get himself into this fucking mess in the first place? _Women,_ he thought._ No, not women – sex_. There was a distinction and he hadn't made it. He'd let his dick do the thinking for him and that's what had caused all the trouble.

He'd really let Lillian down this time, not just by cheating on her; that particular shard of guilt was well-blunted by now, but by getting Lizzie pregnant. A bloody baby. His Lillian would do anything for a baby. It was all she ever wanted. Ironic really that the woman he had managed to get up the duff, couldn't bloody wait to get rid of it. Wouldn't even consider the alternatives.

"Bitch"

He began to sob again, sliding unsteadily down the wall, to sit with his head on his knees. All he could see was an image of his Lilly, that last weekend gone, her face so sad and full of longing as she'd looked at her sister Mary's new baby, sleeping in her pram. She'd tried to be happy for her, had joined in with the baby name suggestions that Mary's other two young children had made. She'd knitted the baby a coat and pair of mittens, and a ridiculous bloody hat with a bobble on it, but Gene could see the pain in her eyes as she'd handed them over. He knew damn well that she'd wanted to keep them, to dress her own longed-for child in.

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It had all started when she'd lost the baby. She'd never said anything to him, just kept it all to herself and tried to make the best of it but even he could see how it had begun to eat away at her over the months and the years that followed. Every time they slept together, afterwards, all he could see was her hoping, wishing for it to happen, concentrating only on the desired outcome. She stopped thinking about them, or him, or about how bloody fantastic he was desperately trying to make her feel. Try as he might she wasn't enjoying it anymore, hadn't been for ages. It was as though a part of her was frozen and as much as tried, he couldn't make it better.

It had created such a tension between them that he'd taken refuge in the only things he'd felt comfortable with; work, the pub, and finally, inevitably, when it became clear that somehow they'd grown so far apart that there was no going back, the arms of other, less complicated and far more willing women.

She didn't know about them, and he did his best to be discrete; he owed her that respect at least, though sometimes he wondered why he bothered. She hated him enough anyway for his failure to get her pregnant, for his refusal to agonise about it as she did, for his relieved acceptance of their childless marriage. The stark truth of it all was that nowadays, he was bored. Bored with the tragedy of it all, bored with her misery, bored with a marriage that he didn't understand anymore.

And since he didn't care enough about it, it had all become his fault. She never said anything about that either, but he could sense it in her tight, simmering silence over the dinner table, her hunched defensive back in bed as she lay as far away from him as she could, the sheets and blankets pulled defensively round her. Every so often she would thaw enough to let him slip his arms around her and hold her, her jaw tightly clenched in resignation, letting him use her body in exchange for the slight hope of conceiving a child. He still felt some semblance of love for his wife; at least he thought he did, but he knew that she was gradually falling out of love with him.

He'd lost track of when they'd last had sex. Sometime before Christmas he thought, because he had a vague recollection her complaining about the cold as he'd fought his way through the bed clothes and the layers of her nightdress, to reveal her beautiful, creamy-white curves. He'd been a bit drunk, but not as bad as he usually was.

He'd ached to hold her, to touch her, to try and make it all better; for things to be like they'd used to be, but it hadn't worked. The worst thing about it all was that he still physically wanted her so much. Lillian was gorgeous and so she should be, she was only twenty-five, but the way she behaved these days, you'd have thought she was twice that. She'd lain there, tense and unmoving, waiting for him to "get on with it" as she put it, her once pliant and loving body unresponsive to his touch.

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Gene could vividly remember the day he'd first seen her, at the café round the corner from the Station, her big dark brown eyes smiling warmly down at him as she'd asked if he wanted tea or coffee with his fry-up. He'd gone into the café every day that week for breakfast and lunch, just to talk to her.

There was something about her that drew him to her, even though she wasn't the kind of girl he normally set his sights on. Lillian Henshaw was a well-brought up young girl from a good Catholic family and she most certainly didn't go out with young men like Gene Hunt.

He'd managed to find out that she usually worked as a receptionist in the big hotel in the middle of town, the one by the railway station where all the posh people had their wedding receptions. She'd taken a week's holiday from her proper job to help her Auntie Maggie whose husband ran the café. Her usual waitress had just had a baby and Maggie was short-staffed.

He'd preserved with her though, unusually for him, perhaps because she was so different. She was dark-haired for one thing, and he usually went for blondes, the obvious ones, the ones that were bold enough to look him up and down, even as he did the same to them, the ones that pressed themselves against him as they danced. The easy ones.

He couldn't be bothered with the normal rules of the game, what was the point; he'd never wanted anything from them long-term, and to be honest, if you'd always picked a girl like that, there was rarely any need for pretence. It was a safe bet that they'd drop their knickers for him without too much persuasion. It had been so easy it had almost become boring. He'd been getting a reputation as a thoroughly bad boy. Like his old man before him, he was handsome and charming, but all the girls had known that Gene Hunt would love you and leave you if you gave him half the chance.

On Friday morning as he'd ordered his breakfast, she'd let slip that she'd be at the dance hall in town that evening and Gene had wasted no time in rounding up a few of the other lads to go with him.

He'd seen her as soon as he'd walked through the door, standing shyly on the edge of the dance floor, trying to politely decline the advances of some spotty-face nonce who clearly wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd made his over to her to her, his long strides bringing him over to her side in seconds, looming arrogantly over both Lillian and the hapless lad he'd just rendered completely redundant.

"My dance, I think" he'd declared in a tone that brooked no argument and had felt a thrill of elation as Lillian had slipped her hand into his and they'd taken to the floor.

He'd danced with her all night and when they hadn't danced, they'd talked. She'd made him laugh which had surprised him somewhat. He couldn't stand the chattering nonsense that most woman came out with, but Lillian had been funny, with a sharp sense of humour and a clear intelligence that he'd found himself responding to .

At the end of the evening, when the slower dances had been played she'd still danced with him, her hand in his shoulder, her cheek resting gently on his chest over his wildly beating heart. She'd held herself away from him as they'd swayed to the music and when he'd tried to pull her tighter into him, she moved away, shyly but firmly. It would seem that Lillian Henshaw really was an entirely different type of girl from the ones he'd encountered before, and without even realising it, Gene was hooked.

He'd asked if he could take her out and to his delight, she'd said yes. They began seeing each other and pretty soon everyone knew that Gene Hunt had seemingly changed his wild ways, tamed into submission by pretty little Lilly.

He'd been unable to think of anything else but her. He'd even fumbled the arrest of some scumbag pickpocket because he'd been daydreaming about her when the bloke had run past him. He'd got the piss taken out of him badly about that and had been made to apologise for it by getting the first two rounds in, but he didn't care; he was enchanted with her.

They'd kissed, but nothing more than that. She hadn't even known how to kiss with tongues and that had blown his mind. Every time he'd held her, he'd wanted more of her. She was beautiful; soft and curvy with a ripe, peachy arse and a set of tits to die for, but she wouldn't even let him touch them on the outside of her clothes. He could put his hands on her waist, but if he'd dared to move them up or down, that was it, she'd pull away with that shy, regretful smile that nearly made him explode with frustration.

Maybe that was why he'd fallen for her so hard. He'd had to actually think about things for a change and by the time he'd realised that she wasn't going to be won over by his charm, it was too late. He'd wanted her too much.

He'd asked her Father for his permission first of course. It had been a slightly awkward conversation. A few days previously, William Henshaw had taken him to the pub for a drink, intent on making his views clear. Gene had been walking out with his daughter for over six months now and people were naturally beginning to make assumptions as to the permanence of their relationship. William had been adamant that Gene had a decision to make. He wasn't going to have his little girl made a fool of.

William had still been a little unsure of Gene's suitability as a son-in-law, but was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. He'd known all about his reputation, and his family history, but that said he'd been seeing Lillian for over six months, had never appeared to behave like anything less than a gentleman, and he'd seemed to be serious about his intentions towards her. He had a good career ahead of him and if there was one thing that William wanted for his children, it was progression, socially as well as economically.

William himself was the proprietor of a Tobacconists & Newsagents. A police officer for a son-in-law, especially one that was already tipped to do well, could only be a good thing, couldn't it? Even if the officer in question was known to have a temper and to drink a little too much? William had put it all down to youthful high spirits. After all, he'd been young himself once. He'd been sure that Gene would soon settle down.

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Gene had gone home from the pub with his mind in turmoil. Did he even want to get married? William certainly thought he should. At times like this, that Gene wished he had a father that he could talk to about it, but no such luck. Even if he'd still been alive, his Dad would have sneered at him for even considering marriage. His dad had only married his mam because she'd been pregnant with him. The threat of dismissal from his job had been enough to make him reluctantly do the decent thing, although he'd made Mam pay for it afterwards.

Maybe that's what had finally made his mind up for him; the fierce determination not to be like his old man. He knew Mam thought Lillian was a lovely girl, and Lillian definitely wanted to get married. Her elder sister Mary had got engaged a couple of months ago and he'd seen the wistfulness on her face as she'd admired the ring. More than that, he liked being part of Lillian's family. As well as Mary, she had three brothers and the house was always full of laughter and people. The Henshaws had proper mealtimes where they all sat down together, talking to and teasing each other as they ate. Gene loved it, the atmosphere, the warmth, the welcoming feeling that he got from them all, despite of his background and his old man's reputation as the local drunk.

He should have seen where it was all going, should have realised how emeshed he'd become in her life, but he'd pushed the thoughts away. A couple of the other lads were getting married. They'd seemed to have no real worries about married life. It was what everybody did and Lillian was beautiful, so full of life and laughter. He'd known she'd make a good wife, but did he really love her? He hadn't known. He'd never been in love before in his life, so how could he have known if this was the real thing?

Did it matter anyway? He'd known that he liked her; he'd liked the way she looked, nice arse, good tits and he'd been proud to have her on his arm, but more than that he'd wanted her desperately, wanted her with a hunger that had made him so hard it hurt.

He'd found himself proposing to her one evening in the front parlour of her parents house. His Mam was delighted at the news, as were Lillian's parents and the wedding date had been set for five months time, with William proudly announcing that the reception would be held at the hotel where Lillian worked.

The day itself had been bright and sunny and Gene had been uncomfortably warm in his new suit, standing nervously by the altar, suddenly desperate for a drink of water. Stuart was no help either, swigging whisky from his hip flask and dropping the ring on the floor, so that it bounced on the flagstones, the noise startlingly loud in the expectant hush.

When she'd appeared on her Father's arm, the music swelling from the organ loft as she walked slowly down the aisle, Lillian had been a vision of white lace and tulle. He could remember the tears of happiness in her eyes as he'd carefully lifted back her veil, the overpowering scent of the roses in her bouquet as they'd kissed.

They'd gone to Scarborough for their honeymoon and Gene had dug deep into his pockets and splashed out on a week in a hotel rather than a Bed & Breakfast. They'd stayed in their room for the first two days, lost in wonder of each other's bodies, only emerging at mealtimes, eating hurriedly, unable to think of anything else but falling back into bed again.

Gene had been patient with her, taking things slowly and gently, teaching her what loving was like, and my god, she'd been a revelation to him, her pale skin so soft against his body, her long dark hair spread across the pillow, her dark eyes gazing trustingly into his as he'd taken her virginity. He'd been exultant as she gasped and moaned with pleasure beneath him, her body responding so sweetly to his.

She'd been so eager to learn from him, not resenting his obvious experience in the slightest, although she'd been shocked when he'd suggested that she might like to take him in her mouth and in six years of marriage it had still only happened a dozen times. Even more shocking to her, had been his request to let him put his mouth on her and taste her. She'd refused point-blank to grant his wish, blushing furiously with embarrassment.

"Why not? It's OK. I won't bite," he'd joked, but she'd shaken her head at him even more vehemently and had clamped her legs together.

"No Gene. I can't. It's not right."

He'd asked her again, many times and she's always refused, except for the one occasion when she'd had too much to drink at Christmas. When she'd realised what he was doing she'd been horrified.

"What's so bad about it?" he'd asked her in bemused frustration. "That fact that I did it, or they fact that you actually liked it?"

She hadn't answered and he'd put it down to her background. He sometimes forgot what a sheltered up-bringing she'd had compared to him. She was uneducated about sexual matters and inexperienced too. He'd just have to bide his time with that particular pleasure.

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They'd moved into their own place on their return from honeymoon. It was a neat little maisonette with its own small garden, in a nice part of town. Gene hadn't given much thought as to where they'd live, assuming, wrongly, it now seemed, that they'd stay with his Mam for a while. He'd liked the idea of still being able to see her every day and Stuart had needed a close watch kept on him, too. Gene had started to worry about him. That was the year he'd started drinking more and more, hanging around with the wrong crowd.

However, William as usual, had other ideas and had put down the rental deposit on the flat as a surprise wedding present and as such, Gene hadn't had the heart to tell Lillian that he didn't like it. She'd been so happy, washing up their new china, making up their bed with the new sheets and pillowcases that she'd chosen. If she was happy, he'd reasoned, than so was he.

He remembered the day she'd told him that she was pregnant as if it was only yesterday. He'd been late home, pleasantly drunk from drinks with the lads to celebrate a successful arrest. She'd been waiting for him at the door; pinny on, her hair in a ponytail, lipstick painstaking applied – the perfect little housewife.

Dinner had been ready and she'd watched him expectantly as he'd eaten it, waiting for him to finish before she'd told him her news. As she'd talked about it excitedly, Gene had begun to feel the first stirrings of panic, a claustrophobic feeling clutching at his throat.

"Pregnant? You sure?" he asked, sitting down on the sofa, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

She'd smiled, totally missing the edge in his voice. "Yes. Of course I'm sure. The doctor confirmed it this morning. I'm at least six weeks gone." He face had clouded slightly. "You are pleased about it, aren't you, Gene?"

He'd swallowed convulsively, before hurriedly reassuring her. "Yes, yes of course, I am, love. It's just a bit soon, that's all. I thought we'd have a bit more time together, you know, just you and me."

She'd laughed shyly, the blush creeping up her cheeks. "We've been married nearly a year, Gene. It's not that soon. Pamela Travis got pregnant on her honeymoon," She'd caught his hand, snuggling into the crook of his arm. "It's not like we don't get enough practice at making babies. You can't keep your hands off me. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

He'd laughed then, leaning down to kiss her. "Well, it's all your fault then, because you are so bloody gorgeous, it's true. I can't keep my hands off you. I just thought it would be later, that's all."

His fingers had edged their way under the waistband of her jumper, stroking slowly upwards, unclasping her bra. She'd whimpered in delight and soon she'd been naked underneath him, moaning with pleasure as he'd eased himself inside her.

He'd let her climax build slowly, teasing her to a peak, his fingers working gently against her clit, his mouth on her breast. He'd felt her start to come, rippling and pulsing around him as she'd cried out in ecstasy. He'd watched her face, loving the fact that he could do this to her. This was one of the best parts of a shag in his opinion.

He'd never been like the other lads, only concerned for what they could get. He'd always paid attention to the girls he'd gone with, triumphantly reducing them all to whimpering, tremulous wrecks, who could think of nothing else but the feeling of him inside them. He'd loved the contrast between a girl's controlled, buttoned-up neatness before she'd let him have his way with her, and the reckless, wild abandon that he could induce in her at the height of her passion. It was power indeed.

He pulled back as Lillian came, and began to thrust with long, powerful strokes, working his way towards his own release, pushing up into her hard. He felt her start to come again for a second time, before her first orgasm had even finished and the feeling of her drove him on, faster and deeper.

Lillian's eyes flew open in alarm and he felt her wriggle under him, tipping her hips back away from him instead of urging them up to meet his as she normally did.

"Gene! Stop! It's too hard!"

He'd slowed, looking at her confusion, his breath ragged in throat, teeth gritted as he'd tried to hold himself back. All he could think about was the feeling of being inside her, her hot tight flesh surrounding him, enveloping him. His cock had surged again with desire and he'd moved in her instinctively.

"Gene! NO! Go slowly!" She'd pushed her hands against his shoulders to stop him.

He'd frowned "What for Lilly? I thought you liked it like that."

"I did, but it's different now. You might hurt the baby."

And that was it – with those five words, it was over for him. He'd felt his erection wither away and die inside her. He'd slid out of her, kissing her briefly on the lips.

"Sorry Lilly" he'd muttered, but he hadn't felt sorry. He'd felt angry, cheated of taking his pleasure with her. The baby was tiny; a fuck wouldn't hurt it, for god's sake. How bloody long did pregnancy last? He'd taken himself back down to the pub again, leaving her to go and break the news to her parents by herself.

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After that, she hadn't let him touch her for the next three months. She'd done nothing but throw-up and hadn't wanted him anywhere near her. When she'd woken him in the middle of the night, his first half-coherent thought had been that maybe his luck was in at last, but then as she'd clicked on the bedside lamp, he'd blinked himself more awake and had seen her sitting up in bed, grey-faced and sweating with pain.

They were lucky, in a way. They had a telephone because of the Station needing to contact Gene at any time, and had been able to call the Doctor out immediately. He'd taken one look at Lillian and called an ambulance. Gene had been shaking by the time it had arrived, terrified by the sight of his wife's blood as it pooled between her legs, the bedsheets soaked and sticky with it. He could deal with any amount of blood and guts if it was to do with his job, but it had been Lillian, his Lilly who'd lain there sobbing inconsolably and he'd felt useless, powerless to help her in any way.

They wouldn't let him go with her in the ambulance, so he'd made his own way to the hospital, waiting anxiously in a corridor until the early hours of the morning when they'd eventually lost patience and told him crossly that he was only in the way and should go home. One of the more kindly nurses had let him look in at Lillian, lying pale and sedated in a bed near the door.

"And the baby?" he asked, hesitantly. No one had said anything about it.

"No good, I'm afraid." the Doctor on duty had told him, briskly. "Still, not to worry. Your wife's young. Just because she's lost one, it doesn't necessarily follow that it will happen again. Wait a couple of months and then have another shot at it. She'll soon forget all about this one."

He'd walked to his Mam's house, unable to face going home yet. It had been raining then, too, and he'd arrived soaked to the skin and shivering. She'd cooked him breakfast without a word, know him well enough to realise that he'd tell her what the matter was when he was ready.

Afterwards, he'd gone into work as usual; he hadn't known what else to do. His Governor had sent him home later that afternoon, having found him asleep at his desk when he should have been completing arrest forms. He'd been all set to give him a bollocking until Gene had explained that he'd been at the hospital with his wife all night.

"Well, if you can't stay awake, you no sodding good to us here, sonny. Bugger off home and get some bloody sleep. I want you back in tomorrow, and no more fuck-ups, Hunt. Is that clear?"

When he'd gone home to the flat, he'd found his mother-in-law there, scrubbing at the mattress. She'd given him a look of disapproval.

"I think I can get the blood out of this, but the sheets are ruined. I've had to throw them away." He'd nodded, blankly and she'd compressed her lips together before she'd spoken again. "Where have you been all day? Lillian was asking for you." Her tone was clipped and tight with anger.

"Work" he'd told her. "The team's one short without me."

Mrs Henshaw threw down the scrubbing brush in disgust. "You should have been with Lillian, Gene! You should have been where you were needed."

He'd gone straight out again to visit her, forgetting in his exhaustion that visiting hours hadn't started yet. He'd snatched some sleep in his car, before making his way to the ward in trepidation. He hated hospitals; didn't know why he'd even bothered to come as Lillian had been sedated again, and so had no idea that he was there. He'd felt vaguely foolish sitting silently next to her bed on the hard wooden hospital chair, his long legs sticking out at an uncomfortable angle.

He'd made a bed up on the sofa that night; the mattress was still wet and, despite Mrs Henshaw's efforts, the bloodstains still showed. He'd lain awake for ages; it felt strange not to have Lilly sleeping next to him. He'd tried hard not to think about what had happened; not because her losing the baby had upset him, but because it hadn't and he'd known that wasn't right. He shouldn't feel that way, should he?


	2. Lizzie

**Chapter 2 as promised. There'll be one more after this as it would have been way too long otherwise.**

**Gene's being a very bad boy in this one, and it does get a bit filthy.**

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The rain and the cold dragged him back to the present with a start. He could hear Ray shouting his name, calling for him from somewhere further along the towpath. He struggled to his feet and stumbled off in the opposite direction. He couldn't let Ray see him like this. It was bad enough that he knew about Lizzie and the baby, and he'd been dammed if he'd let Carling catch him crying about it as well.

He walked aimlessly through the deserted streets, longing for his bed, but unable to stomach the thought of sleeping next to his wife; his innocent, trusting, bitterly unhappy Lillian. He couldn't do that to her. Not after what he'd done today.

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It had all started last summer. England were hosting the World Cup, the country was on a roll and a strange mood of excitement had seemed to hang over everything and everyone.

He'd gone to The Crown after his shift, intent on playing darts and sinking pints at a rate of knots. The last couple of nights, he'd made himself go straight home from work and spend the evening with Lillian as he knew he'd been taking the piss a bit recently.

He'd stayed out until gone one o'clock for three nights on the trot in the last week and he'd felt slightly guilty about it. He hadn't needed to go home that evening though, as Lillian was meeting a girlfriend at the pictures after work.

After she'd recovered, physically at least, from losing the baby, Gene had encouraged her to go back to work at the hotel part-time. He worked long, unpredictable hours and he'd been worried that she'd be bored and unhappy all on her own, waiting for him to come home. She'd agreed, on the understanding that she'd be leaving anyway when she'd got pregnant again. That was five years ago now, and she was still there, silently waiting for it to happen, watching despairingly as her army of nephews and nieces expanded each year.

Gene liked being an uncle; you got all the fun & games, and the nice bits of kids but more importantly, you got to hand them back again when they started to whinge and complain. He'd tried to convince Lillian of the benefits of this approach, but he'd only succeeded in making her cry.

"It's not the same, Gene!" she'd shrieked at him. "It's not the same and you know it! Trouble is, you don't care! I don't even think you want your own kids!"

He'd kept silent, not meeting her eyes. He'd done his best to ignore the part of him that'd been relieved when she'd lost the baby, glad that he'd never have to face up to what kind of father he'd be. He thought of his old man, of his face twisted up in sadistic pleasure as he'd taken his belt to them, the smack of his hand as it'd cracked across his mam's cheek.

Gene had hated him, had prayed every day of his wretched childhood for something bad to happen to Dad, but it never had. He'd always been there, stinking of drink, shouting and roaring at them all, lashing out with his fists for the least little thing. Gene knew he had a temper like that, he liked a drink too and deep down he was terrified that he'd end up like him. Perhaps, if he never had kids, he'd never have find out.

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There'd been a new barmaid at the pub that evening. He'd heard the other lads at the station talking about her; according to them she was stunning, "just like a proper film-star" and they were taking bets on who would be the first to be brave enough to ask her out and consequently get knocked back.

"So you don't think she's going to have anything to do wi' the likes of us, then?" he'd asked them, his interest suddenly sparked at the thought of a challenge.

As he'd walked through the pub door that evening, she'd been standing there, straight and tall behind the bar, watching them all in amusement as they'd jostled for her attention. Gene had taken one look at her and he'd wanted her so badly that he'd found it hard to breathe.

If Lillian called to mind Sophia Loren, all dark hair and soft curves, then Lizzie Butler was Grace Kelly; tall and coolly blonde, with the silver-grey eyes of an ice-queen. He quickly learned that the ice melted if you made her smile. You could see the fire sparkle in her eyes, and if you made her laugh, then the façade cracked completely. She had the filthiest laugh Gene had ever heard from a woman before, rich, deep, and downright dirty.

He didn't get involved in all the unseemly pushing and shoving with the other lads. He'd stood back; arms folded, and watched them all make proper twats of themselves. She'd met his eyes for instant and he'd seen them widen.

"_Bingo"_, he'd thought to himself, feeling the thrill of the chase grip him. "_You might play it cool, love, but you want me."_

"I'll be with you in a minute, sweetheart," she'd told him, obviously expecting him to be pleased at being singled out for her individual attention. He'd held her gaze for a second longer than he'd needed to, and then signalled to Arthur the landlord and put his drinks order in with him instead……. and that was all it took. Little Miss "Film-star" was his. He'd have bet his weeks wages on it, he'd been that bloody certain.

She'd met his eyes boldly when he ordered another round, let her fingers brush his palm when she'd given him his change and rested a hand on his shoulder as she'd leaned over him to collect the empty glasses from his table. He'd bought yet another round for everyone, even though it was getting late, wanting to go to the bar again and hear that laugh.

"4 pints and a whisky, please love, and have one yourself while you're at it." He'd been casual-sounding, but his heart had been racing as he'd rested his elbows on the bar, waiting for her to pull the pints.

"Thanks. I'll have it later… after closing time." If he'd hadn't been ready for it, he might not have caught the slight pause, the intonation in her voice, but then she'd given him a look so full of knowing promise, that he'd felt his cock leap and twitch at the thought of what it might entail.

Five minutes later he had a better idea of what she was offering. He had her address, scribbled hastily on a piece of paper, tucked safely into the top pocket of his jacket as she'd given him his change.

He managed to avoid walking home with any of the lads, by simply taking himself off to the Gents as they were leaving. As he'd walked back across the virtually empty bar, she'd watched him impassively, the ice-queen expression giving nothing away, but when he'd turned to wish her goodnight, she'd smiled slowly and blown him a kiss.

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Half an hour later, he'd knocked at the street door of her bedsit. She'd said nothing as she'd led him up the dark and dingy staircase, and when they'd reached her room she'd let go of his hand, moving away from him to take a bottle of whisky from the cupboard along with two glasses. She'd seen the look he'd given her; whisky was a bloke's drink. "The taste for it's in my blood. My dad's Scottish." she'd told him by way of explanation.

"What's he doing here then?"

"Textiles" she'd shrugged, gesturing to the whisky. "Help yourself." He'd poured them both a measure and when he'd looked back up at her she was unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a black bra filled with the most amazing pair of tits that Gene had seen in long time. He'd raised one eyebrow at her presumption and she'd laughed with sardonic amusement.

"Don't look at me like that, love. We both know why you're here and not on your way home to your wife." She'd slipped down the zip of her miniskirt and stepped out of it, standing before him in nothing but her underwear and high heels.

"How do know I'm married?" he'd asked her, moving to stand in front of her, stroking one long, lean finger down the side of her neck, tracing it slowly across her collarbone, managing to keep his both his voice and his breathing remarkably steady. "I don't wear a wedding ring."

"Well, there's the answer in itself." She'd tipped her head on one side, her eyes half-closed, assessing him. "You're a copper. You work long hours, stay out all night, but your shirt's perfectly ironed and your shoes are clean. You look well-fed, looked after. The unmarried ones look a mess. They've no-one to nag them into being smart."

He'd nodded slowly, impressed at her observation. "So, you been with many married men then?"

"I always go with married men. They're far more grateful." She'd looked at him in challenge and he'd laughed.

"You cynical bitch."

"Very probably. They're also far more experienced. Boys my age are just that - _boys_. They don't really know how to please a girl." She'd shrugged dismissively. "Anyway, I'm not going to be around here that long, and I don't want to get serious with anyone."

"OK" he'd told her, nodding slowly as he considered what she'd said. "So what's this about then. You and me….here….. like this." He knew damn well what it was about but he wanted to hear her say it; to establish the rules of the game that they were inevitably going to play.

"Simple." She regarded him coolly, though he could see the heat in her eyes. "You want me, I want you. End of story." And with that she'd un-clipped her bra, wriggled out of her knickers and stood there, totally naked, without a hint of embarrassment.

He'd felt the triumph surge through him as she'd spoken and he'd pulled her to him, kissing her roughly. She'd responded instantly, biting hungrily at his lower lip, her hands pulling his shirt undone and reaching down to undo his belt.

He was lost the instant he touched her. Something in her called to darker side of him and he was unable to resist. Up until that moment, he'd managed to convince himself that none of his infidelities had been that bad; a hurried blow-job behind the club from any of the prettier girls that worked there, a quick shag or two with any number of bored housewives while their husbands were at work. Gene had discovered early on that possession of a warrant card not only opened doors; it opened a certain type of women's legs as well.

None of them were serious, he'd told himself. A couple of breathless fucks did not mean that he was going to leave Lillian, what ever they might think. He didn't want to leave her; didn't really want to be chasing skirt at all when he had such a gorgeous-looking woman at home, but well…. she didn't want him, and a bloke had to get it from somewhere, didn't he, or he'd end up going mad.

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They hadn't even made it over to the narrow single bed in the corner of the room. He'd just pushed her up against the nearest wall with his body, while he'd ripped the tie from round his neck with one hand and undone his zip with the other. Then he'd reached down a hand and slipped his fingers inside her, feeling her soaking wet and ready for him.

"Jesus Christ, love, you really do want me, don't you."

She'd moaned wordlessly in reply and with that he'd kicked her ankles apart with one booted foot and lunged up into her. She'd wrapped one leg tightly round his hip, her moans of pleasure increasing in volume as he'd thrust his achingly hard cock into her as deeply as he could.

He'd had her twice more before he'd realised the time and had reluctantly gathered up his clothes. She'd watched him from the bed as he'd dressed, her gloriously lithe body stretched languidly across the sheets. He'd crossed the room to her and kissed her, slowly and deeply, his tongue sliding hotly against hers. As his fingers brushed across one nipple, it had stiffened into a hard peak again almost immediately. Gene had looked at her face, her eyes huge with lust, and he'd laughed in surprise.

"Bloody hell. You greedy girl. You want it again don't you? Three times not enough for you?"

She'd stared back at him and shaken her head. "No, it's not enough. I always want more. Especially more of what you've just given me. Will you be in the pub again tomorrow night?"

Gene had picked up his jacket and undone the latch of the door, trying not to betray any of the elation that he felt.

"Depends. You made the rules sweetheart. You want me, I want you. End of story. Does that still stand?"

"I told you . Nothing serious."

He'd nodded. "Suits me love. I'll see you tomorrow night."

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And so it began; the crazy, dangerous game that they'd played all that summer, and on into the autumn and winter, without any thought as to how disastrous the consequences may be.

Gene had known that he was being reckless, that at any moment, Lillian could have found out, but Lizzie consumed him, the way that his wife once had, filling his dreams with darkly erotic images. He'd had to see her, the need to be with her burned in him and he couldn't wait for the evenings after closing time, when he'd let himself into her bedsit. He'd sit in the darkness, waiting for her to return from the pub and undress in front of him, waiting for her to take his dick in her hot, eager mouth, before he fucked her hard, any way he wanted to.

She was twenty-two years old, with the face of a duchess and the soul of a whore. Her mother was Swedish, which explained her pale Nordic beauty, and Lizzie had taken the job at The Crown until she'd saved up enough money to visit her Aunt Sonja in San Francisco. Sonja had married an American GI and Lizzie had cousins that she'd never met. She wanted to travel; to escape from Manchester and her boring, stifled existence. After she'd spent sometime with her Aunt's family, her intention was to go to Hollywood and try her luck at acting.

She hadn't wanted him to leave Lilly, never wanted to talk about her, wasn't interested in any other aspect of his life. She really had just wanted him to fuck her, end of story. Gene had found her detached attitude a blessed relief after a few years of playing away with women who said they didn't care that he was married at first but soon changed their tune. All of them, without fail, had become clinging and tearful, wanting more than he was prepared to give. There was always a scene and if there was one thing that Gene couldn't stand, it was a woman snivelling over him. Why on god's earth did they all think that would make a man stay? As far as he was concerned, it just made him get dressed and bugger off as soon as he could.

She'd never been at all bothered that he'd often spent the whole evening in the pub ignoring her, and yet had still expected to be able to shag her when he'd felt like it. Lizzie Butler may have been young but when it came to men she had the heart of a truly world-weary cynic. In turn, he'd been under no illusions as to how he'd felt about her – he definitely hadn't loved her. He wasn't sure sometimes that he'd even liked her. She was ever so slightly unsettling with her detached manner and the way she just took what she wanted from him. One evening, in a moment of rare introspection he'd realised why he found her so unnerving; she was exactly the way he'd been before he'd met Lillian – beautiful, charming and totally selfish. She was a player and she'd read him like a book.

But that said, she'd made him feel like man again and he hadn't needed to like her to shag her. He had a wife at home that he was very happy with……well…….. he had been, before the sadness had consumed her, and to be honest, he did his best not think of Lillian as he'd fucked Lizzie, face down on the mattress, the marks of his hands still clearly visible on the cheeks of her arse.

She'd liked it rough, wanted him to spank her and tie her up, and when the guilt about the whole affair threatened to surface, he'd take it out on her, but it seemed that the worse he'd treated her, the more she'd got off on it. She was insatiable; he'd never met a girl like her. Sometime nights, he'd hardly been able to walk home, his bollocks had ached so much from the number of times she'd made him come.

She'd let him do anything to her, even inviting him to fuck her up the arse, a desire that she'd revealed to him as he'd sat alone at the end of the bar one Saturday night. As she'd whispered in his ear, telling him exactly what she'd wanted him to do to her, he'd had to down his whisky in one go, just stop himself from coming, there and then.

He hadn't been able to keep his hands off her after she'd done that, getting her to make some excuse to Arthur, and then dragging her into a dark corner of the beer cellar, demanding that she suck him off to ease the ache in his rock-hard dick. She'd done so, enthusiastically, and as he'd spilled himself into her warm, wet mouth, Gene had felt as though he'd died and gone to heaven.

Later that night as he'd done as she wanted, grunting in urgent satisfaction and stifling her ecstatic screams by means of a hand clamped hard over her mouth, any guilt he might have had about Lillian had vanished. As he'd thrust himself deep inside her, all he'd been able to think of was the way that Lizzie Butler's beautiful, sordid body made him feel. Her unspeakable filthy behaviour had totally eclipsed anything that his shy, gentle wife had ever offered him.

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As the months went on, they'd grown more and more careless about who knew. Ray Carling had guessed when he'd almost caught them at it in the back room of the pub, on his way to the Gents. He'd said nothing, just raised an eyebrow and carried on drinking when Gene returned to the table. Gene was his DI now, the youngest one that their division had ever had, and Ray wanted to stay on his good side.

A few of the other officers had had their suspicions but they too, said nothing. Some of them had their own "bits on the side" and were in no position to moralise, and the others were like Ray; wary of Gene's temper and well aware of how difficult he could make their working life.

Gene had taken more risks where Lillian was concerned. He'd regularly stayed out until all hours of the night, especially when Lizzie had swapped her uncomfortable single bed for a double one. She'd told her landlord that she had a bad back and so needed plenty of space to spread out in whilst sleeping.

The look he'd given her had spoken volumes, but he'd still done as she'd asked. No man ever refused Lizzie Butler when she turned her beautiful silver gaze on them. The new bed took up half the room but they didn't care. They didn't do anything except drink and shag in it anyway. He'd never actually stayed the whole night with her, though. Bizarrely, given all the other immoral things he was prepared to do, he'd somehow felt that actually _sleeping_ with another woman would have been disrespectful.

Inevitably, Lillian and Lizzie had come face to face with one another in town, one miserable January morning. Lillian had dragged Gene out shopping for a new suit. She'd been nagging him for ages that he needed a new one, and when he'd been promoted, she'd been adamant about it. He hadn't been in the mood for it at all, bad-tempered from drinking too much the previous evening, as he'd had to go without Lizzie. She'd gone home to see her parents and he'd spent the night in a state of moody, thwarted desire that not even winning at cards had helped to dispel.

As he'd marched furiously through the perfume department, dragging Lillian with him, he'd cannoned into someone as they came round the corner by the stairs to the first floor. He'd known instantly that it was Lizzie, she always wore this heavy cloying scent that he had to wash off of his skin before he went home to Lilly. He'd felt himself responding to her instinctively, and he'd held her at arms length, terrified that his body would given him away.

"Sorry." She'd gazed at him demurely but her eyes had sparkled with malicious mischief as she'd turned to look Lillian up and down.

"You all right, love?" Gene had asked her, his fingers digging into her arm viciously, daring her to make scene."You look a little flushed. I'd get yourself off home, if I were you." He'd eyed her warningly.

Lizzie had actually battled her eyelashes at him, mockingly." Yes, I'm fine, Inspector Hunt. Just feeling a bit wobbly." She'd giggled, and Gene had closed his eyes in relief as he'd realised that she wasn't going to say anything.

"You want to go and have a lie down. Get someone to rub your back for you." He'd given her a sly wink and she'd giggled again.

"I should be so lucky. I'm all on my own tonight with no-one to take care of me." Her message was clear and Gene had nodded briefly, before turning and walking away, dragging his wife with him.

"Gene!" Lillian's tone had been scolding, with the faint, nagging edge to it that she was starting to use with him. "You can't go saying things like that to girls like her." She'd frowned. "How did she know your name?"

He'd frozen, frantically thinking of what to tell her. She'd already told him off that morning for staring at some bird's arse. He tried so hard to behave when he was out with Lillian, but sometimes he couldn't help himself, and the silly tart had been wiggling along like Marilyn Monroe, in a pair of heels and some silly little short jacket. He knew that Lilly could tell what he was thinking when he looked at women like that; his face changed. A girl had once told him that he looked like "_a big, bad wolf, just waiting to take a bite out me."_

He'd shrugged nonchalantly, to cover up the churning panic in his stomach. "She came into the station the other week. Something about getting her purse stolen."

Lillian had nodded, absently, already distracted. "I must get some more wool" she'd murmured more to herself than to him. "Mary's baby's due in a couple of months and I haven't even started knitting anything yet.


	3. Consequences

**So, here we are; the last chapter and I hope you'll forgive me for what I've done to Gene. He's a world away from the "Ashes" Gene (the one we all know and love) that we usually see in our fics, where more often than not, he's portrayed as a deeply flawed but essentially decent man. (I've tried to write him like that in H&F anyway ;-))**

**In this story, he has all of the flaws and very little of the decency, which makes for uncomfortable reading at some points, but I wanted to show him as he was at the beginning; how he hit rock bottom with some aspects of his life before starting his long, dark journey to becoming the man he is in H&F.**

**I hope that this will go some way to explain the changes he's been through, what motivates him to be the way he is with Alex in H&F, how she's "rescued" him, and most importantly, provided him with a chance of redemption from his past mistakes.**

**Thank you to everyone who has read (and thanks to those who reviewed as well :-)).**

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He found himself on the pavement outside her bedsit, though God only knows how he'd got there. Habit, he presumed, his feet taking charge while his mind tried to deal with what had happened. He lit another cigarette with shaking hands and propped himself drunkenly into a doorway across the road, staring up at her window.

He fought down the nausea again as he recalled the despairing sob that had emerged Lizzie's mouth as she'd walked into Winnie's back room and had suddenly realised what was actually going to happen to her. She'd stopped for a split second and he'd seen her face twist into a frightened grimace.

"Right." she'd whispered, her voice shaking. "Lets get this over with." She hadn't looked back at him as the door had closed, and he'd been left standing alone in the dark, draughty hall.

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He couldn't believe just how quickly his life had become such a total mess. Two weeks ago it had all been ticking along nicely; Lillian at home, getting on with her life, Lizzie at the pub, happy to wait for him to find the time for a shag. Although, let's face it, he'd always found the time for a shag. That's what had got him in this state in the first place.

A couple of Saturdays ago, he'd crept home at some god-awful hour of the morning and as he'd climbed into bed, he'd looked his peacefully sleeping wife, her face illuminated by the moonlight shining through the thin curtains.

He'd felt his stomach twist with fierce guilt as he'd watched her sleep. Sometimes, on the rare occasions when he let himself think about it, he wished she would fall pregnant. Then at least all the heart-break would end and she'd be happy again, and if she did have a baby, he'd just have to learn to deal with being a father. He was a grown-up and he'd have to make the best of it, for Lillian's sake.

He'd fallen asleep, resolving to be nicer to her, to not take the piss quite so much. Maybe stop seeing Lizzie every bloody chance he got. He'd go to Mass with Lillian in the morning, he'd told himself. It wasn't his sort of thing at all, he didn't believe in any of that nonsense, but he'd known it would make her happy.

Lillian herself had scuppered his plans however. She'd taken pity on him, thinking that his absences and late nights were as a result of work, and had let him sleep in while she'd got ready for church. She'd woken him up with a cup of tea and he'd seen that she was already dressed in her Sunday best.

He'd apologised for over-sleeping and she'd fussed around him, straightening the bedclothes.

"Oh, Gene, you know you don't have to apologise. You work so hard, and I'm so proud of you, especially know you've made Inspector"

He'd felt really uncomfortable then. She genuinely thought that all his lies and excuses about not being around were because of his job. She'd sat on the edge of the bed and taken his hand shyly.

"I know you have a really important job to do, but I do wish that you were home just a little bit more, Gene. We hardly even _sleep_ together, let alone do anything else."

The blush had crept up her cheeks as it always did when she talked about "intimate matters" as she put it. Christ, he'd felt like utter shit at that moment; he had this beautiful, trusting woman for a wife and he was behaving like a total bastard.

Lillian had smiled sadly. "I know I'm a Catholic, but even I realise that I'm not going to get pregnant by immaculate bloody conception."

She never, ever swore and even though she'd held the smile in place, he'd seen that her eyes were bright with tears. She'd looked so beautiful; dark-eyed and soulful, and he'd felt his heart twist in grief for what they'd become.

He'd reached out for her blindly, needing to hold her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her tears away, her lips soft and sweet against his, and at that moment Gene had wished fervently with all his heart that'd he'd never met Lizzie Butler, never been drawn into her dark little games.

He'd fumbled at the buttons of Lillian's dress as a sudden wave of desire for his wife had gripped him, slipping his fingers inside and gently stroking the curve of her breast. She'd continued to kiss him as he'd un-done her bra and deftly teased her nipple into a hard peak. Pushing her dress further from her shoulders, he'd bent his head and taken it in his mouth, lapping gently with his tongue, and incredibly, he'd heard her gasp with pleasure, just as she'd used to.

God, he'd wanted her so much. It had felt the way it used to be, when they'd first got married and he'd so desperately wanted her to remember how good they'd been together. He'd drawn her down with him onto the bed and for a little while she'd lain there, the soft curves of her body pressed against him, her lips responding eagerly to his as his fingers had edged their way under the hem of her dress, stroking slowly up the soft flesh of her inner thigh….. and, then without warning, the spell had been broken. She'd pushed him away abruptly.

"No….Gene.. Stop. I can't…please."

"Why not?" he'd asked her, pleadingly, not quite believing that she'd rejected him when she'd so obviously been enjoying it. He'd reached out a hand and stroked her cheek, gently.

"Please, Lilly." he'd whispered softly, silently begging her to say yes.

"I just don't feel right." She'd given him an agonised look. "I'm sorry… I have to go to Mass anyway. I've promised I'll stay afterwards and re-do the flowers." She'd taken refuge in the minutiae of her life, and Gene had felt his temper surge up inside him. He'd drawn a steadying breath as he'd tried to keep it in check.

"So you're saying no?" he'd asked acidly, frustrated that she was always so "_nice_", so bloody "_proper_" about everything. Why couldn't she have just forgotten about going to Mass and have got back into bed with him again? His whole body had ached with frustration, not just because she'd wouldn't let him shag her, but because she just wouldn't let go and relax.

She'd nodded tremulously. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that…"

He'd listened with growing anger as she'd totted out the same old excuses and then he had lost his temper, unable to hold back the harsh words that had risen, unbidden, to his lips.

"Well, just you remember this, Lillian, the next time you start to whine about me never shagging you! You just remember that _I_ wanted to, and _you _said no!" He'd been furious with her for saying no, furious with himself for thinking it could be different

_What the hell did she think she was doing, complaining that he was never around and then knocking him back? At least he'd been trying for Christ's sake, unlike her! He'd even though about giving Lizzie up, and what thanks did he get? None. Just the cold shoulder and more of her stupid excuses!_

His thoughts had raged angrily, as he'd glared at Lillian's anxious face.

_Well, he wouldn't ask again. He felt like a fool and he wasn't having that. If she'd been a little more loving and giving in the bloody first place, he wouldn't have needed to go out and find someone else who was!_In his mind, he'd managed to justify his behaviour as that of a man driven to desperate measures because of her constant rejection on him.

"Gene, please don't be like that! I've got responsibilities. I can't let Father O'Connor down."

Thwarted desire had combined with angry guilt, and he'd roared at her viciously, suddenly hating the prim little life she'd carved out for herself in his absence.

"Well, we wouldn't want to upset Father O'Connor now, would we! Go on then, Lillian! Fuck of to your precious Mass, and pray to God to give you a baby!"

He'd seen her flinch in horror at his cruel words.

"And while you're down on your knees, why don't you ask him to make you less of a frigid bitch as well!"

She'd slapped him hard across the face, and he'd sat and taken it because he'd known that he'd deserved it. He'd watched numbly as she'd re-buttoned her dress with shaking hands and left for church. She hadn't looked at him once.

When he'd realised that Lillian really had gone to Mass and wasn't coming back, he'd drunk his way through the beer that they'd had in the house, despite it only being ten o'clock on a Sunday morning. Then he'd taken himself round to Lizzie's bedsit, desperate to lose himself in her glorious body, but there had been no sign of her.

In his drunken despair, he'd hammered on the side door of The Crown until Arthur answered it. He'd taken one at look at Gene and shaken his head.

"She's not here. She's gone home to her parents for a week. You'll have to make do with the five-knuckle shuffle like the rest of us poor bastards, Inspector," and with that, he'd banged the door firmly shut in Gene's face.

He'd gone to the one place he truly felt at home; the station, and had sat at his desk in the deserted CID room, swigging from the bottle of whisky he kept in his locker, drinking himself into a simmering rage. _Stupid bitch! What did she think she was doing, pissing off home for a week and not telling him about it!_

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When she had finally returned to work, it hadn't been the happy reunion he'd been hoping for. He'd been in the pub with Ray, and thank God no one else had been at their table when she'd sat down next to him and taken a long drag of his cigarette.

"Alright, Lizzie?" he'd asked her, puzzled by her aggressive posture and pinched expression.

"No I'm bloody not" she'd snapped.

"Why? What's up?"

"You were" she'd told him spitefully "and now I'm pregnant"

Beside him, he'd felt Ray Carling freeze, his pint suspended halfway to his mouth.

"So?" He'd shrugged, bluffing it out while the fear squeezed his chest so hard he could hardly breathe.

"It's yours and I want you to give me the money to get rid of it."

She'd looked at him boldly, clearly ready to kick up a fuss if he denied it. He hadn't know what to say. Bizarrely, he'd felt as though he might laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. There was his wife at home, waiting for a baby that it seemed she was never going to have, and there he was, sat in the pub with a woman that he wasn't sure that he even liked, who was pregnant with his child. Jesus Christ, how bloody ironic was that?

As he'd stared at Lizzie in silence, Ray had gingerly edged his way from the table, carefully avoiding any eye contact with either of them.

"I'll, um, see you later, Boss." He'd hurried out the pub, leaving Gene on his own with her.

He'd closed his eyes in resignation, part of him hoping that when he opened them again it would all be a bad dream. No such bloody luck. She'd still been sitting there, smoking moodily, waiting for him to answer her. He'd heaved a huge sigh, feeling his heart plummet in dread at the thought of what he had to do.

"Right. This is not the place to discuss stuff like this." He'd grabbed her wrist and pulled her up out of her seat.

"Why?" she'd challenged. "Too many people that might hear the happy news?"

"No!" he'd hissed back, suddenly furious at her lack of discretion. "Because what you've just asked me to do is illegal and I'm a bloody police officer, or had you forgotten that!"

He'd marched her from the pub and down the road to her place, keeping an eye out for anyone who may have been around to hear them arguing.

"How the fucking hell did this happen?" he'd asked her furiously.

"The usual bloody way! You shagged me at any opportunity you got and now I'm two months gone! How difficult is that for you to understand?"

"I thought we were careful?"

"Not careful enough it would seem, so what are you going to do about it?"

He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "I don't know! You can't just walk into a pub shouting your mouth off about wanting an abortion."

"So? I wanted someone else to hear me, that way you can't wriggle out of it so easily."

"You really do have a very low opinion of me, don't you Lizzie?" he'd told her, feeling the anger start to rise in him.

She'd laughed harshly. "Of course I do! You're a married man who's happy to shag me whenever you can. You've lied to your wife so that you could cheat on her with me. You don't deserve any of my respect. I've told you that before."

He'd opened his mouth to argue, and had realised there was no point. Everything she'd said about him had been true, and he wasn't going to add being a gutless bastard to her list of his failings.

"OK… I'll sort it out."

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He'd gone back to see Lizzie the following evening. He'd been drunk, and exhausted from a sleepless night spent sitting on the sofa, staring into space. He'd pleaded with her to reconsider; making it clear that although he couldn't leave Lillian, he'd take care of her until the baby arrived. He'd promised her money, a better place to live. He hadn't known why it was so important to him that he offered her this alternative, but he'd had to try.

He'd had some ridiculously crazy idea that after the baby was born, he'd tell Lillian about it. Lizzie didn't want it, but maybe Lilly would; no, he _knew_ that Lilly would . Lizzie could go to America and Lillian would get her heart's desire. In his drunken state, it had all been so clear.

She laughed at him, openly mocking him. "You are joking, aren't you? Have you any idea what having a baby will do to my body? I want to be a bloody actress, for God's sake! I don't want saggy tits and stretch marks!"

She'd stood there, her blonde hair shinning in the light and her beautiful grey eyes full of contempt. Her voice had been ice-cold.

"Get this into your thick skull. I want rid of this baby, and I want it done soon."

He'd hated her at the moment; her coldness, her lack of emotion.

He'd hated himself more though.

He'd said nothing further, just bowed his head in total defeat, and left.

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It hadn't taken long to arrange it. It was easy if you were in his line of work and you knew where to look. One phone call, a visit and an envelope full of cash, and it was all arranged.

Mrs Winifrid Hubbard was a doctor's widow who claimed she was a dressmaker, but her daughter actually made the dresses. In truth, "Old Mother" Hubbard carried out far more intimate, and far more dangerous "alterations". She well known for making any number of young girls "little problems" disappear overnight.

She'd only do it for the right price though; she didn't come cheap, and worse than that, he'd have to wait a week. Finding the money to pay Winnie had been the biggest problem. When she'd named her price, he'd felt sick; it was an immense amount of money.

She seen the expression on his face and had smiled thinly. "Don't even think about trying to get it done any cheaper, Mr Hunt," she'd warned him, laughing at his horrified face. "Don't be so soft lad, of course I know who are! I'd be bloody stupid if I didn't know all the coppers round here. You may be a Detective Inspector but that doesn't cut any ice wi' me. You pay the full price or I'll let your Chief Super know you've been to see me. You'll find he turns a blind eye to my business especially after he had that "little bit of trouble" wi' his secretary, a year or two back."

He couldn't ask to borrow that amount of cash from anyone and he couldn't draw it from the savings account either, in case Lillian found out. In desperation, he'd sold his watch, the one that Lillian had given him on their wedding day, taking it to a jeweller on the other side if the city where no-one would recognise him. He'd told Lilly that he'd lost it when she'd asked where it was. She'd said nothing more; she still hadn't forgiven him, but he'd known she was upset about it.

He'd still been short of the full amount a couple of days before Lizzie was due to see Winnie, and he'd had no idea where he was going to get the rest from. In the end, he'd taken a bung from a hotel porter that he'd questioned about large amounts of drink going missing from the hotel's wine cellars. The man had offered him the bribe in desperation. He'd been stupid and greedy and he'd wanted to keep his job. His face had lit-up in delighted disbelief when Gene had told him that if he doubled the amount he was offering, then he'd make all the charges disappear.

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Somehow he'd managed to get through that week, hardly eating, hardly speaking to any one, desperately drowning his sorrows in drink each evening He'd told Lilly that he had to work and wouldn't be around that Saturday. That had been the easiest bit: she trusted him implicitly.

Telling Lizzie that she had to wait a week had been messy; she'd gone bloody mad, screaming and shouting about how she just wanted it to be over, but he'd been adamant; they waited until Winnie could do it. There were other women in the city that would provide the same service, but they didn't have the medical knowledge that Winnie did, and as much as he wanted the whole thing over and done with, he wasn't going to risk Lizzie being butchered. If he had to sort this out, then he'd do it properly, like his Mam had always taught him, even though he was petrified. He'd lose his job if anybody found about it.

"_Never expect anyone else to sort out your mistakes, Gene. You made them, you deal wi' them". _He'd heard his Mam's voice in his mind as he'd stood shaving at the bathroom sink that morning. He'd longed to talk her about it all, but had known that there was no way he could ever tell his Mam what he'd been about to do; he couldn't face the look of disgust in her eyes as she realised what he'd become.

He couldn't talk to Stuart about it either, he hadn't set eyes on him for over four years now. Stupid druggie bastard had disappeared off the face of the earth not long after he and Lillian had been married. He'd tried his best to straighten him out, but nothing had worked. Gene missed him, but to tell the truth, it wasn't the best thing, being a copper, and having a brother who was hooked on drugs.

He'd always known what people had said about Stuart and him. "Like father, like son wi' that one…but at least Gene hasn't turned out too bad."

If only they knew the truth; that as much as he'd tried not to be, Gene was _exactly_ like his Father, worse even. At least his dad had done the decent thing and married Mam, whereas he'd got a girl pregnant and was paying to getting rid of it. If his old man had had the same opportunity, he'd have taken it, and Gene wouldn't have been standing there now, staring his father's image in the lines of his own pale, drawn face. The knowledge hit him like a physical blow, making his hand tremble. He'd wiped the blood from his neck, staring in loathing at the man he saw in the mirror.

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He'd driven Lizzie there himself. He wasn't that much of a bastard that he'd let her go on her own. She'd not spoken a word to him on the way over there and had stood in silence, watching blank-faced as he'd handed over the money to Winnie's daughter.

Then Lizzie had walked into that room and he hadn't known what to do. In the end he'd waited in hall, pacing nervously up and down, unable to rid his mind of the image of himself doing exactly the same thing the night that Lilly had lost the baby. He'd stayed there until he'd heard Lizzie's pleading voice drifting through the door in a thin wail of pain.

"Oh God…..Jesus …..Jesus Christ…… Jesus Christ!" The agonised words had risen up into a scream that had cut off abruptly. He'd fled then, stumbling out of the house and throwing up in the back yard, heaving his guts up until there was nothing left. When he'd been able to stand again, he'd retreated to his car, his hands shaking as he'd undone the door.

God alone knew how long he'd waited there, convinced that Lizzie was dead or dying. In the end, just as he'd been gathering his courage to go back into the house, Winnie's daughter had appeared, summoning him with a quick jerk of head.

Lizzie had been in the back room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of a chair, her body hunched over in pain. She was grey-faced and hollow-eyed, her pale blonde hair hanging in sweaty tangles round her face.

"Take me home, please." she'd asked him in a low voice.

He'd nodded dumbly, unable to keep the look of horror from his face. There'd been a bucket of bloodstained rags near the chair and he'd tried his best not to look at it.

"You sure?" he'd flustered. "I mean, can you go yet? You're OK?" He'd just wanted to check that she wasn't going to bleed to death as he drove her back.

She'd given him a look of pure loathing. "Of course I'm not OK!" She'd spat the words at him furiously. "I just want to go home!"

He'd moved forward to help as she stood up painfully but she'd flinched away from him, shaking his hand off her arm. "Don't you bloody dare touch me!" she'd hissed and he'd stepped back as sharply as if she'd slapped him.

He'd driven home as carefully as he could, but she'd whimpered with pain at every bump and jolt in the road. As they'd pulled up outside her door, he'd gone round to the passenger side to help her out. She'd reluctantly taken his hand this time but had dropped it immediately she was safely on the pavement, searching her bag for her door keys. He'd followed her upstairs into her room; he'd known she hadn't wanted him to, but he'd just wanted to check that she was alright.

"So, you gonna be OK? I mean, you've got enough money? You're not going back to work straight away, are you?" He'd stood in the doorway, his hands stuffed awkwardly into his pockets, not knowing what else to do.

"I'll be fine. I'm going back to my parents house in a couple of days."

"Why don't you go now? I'll drive you there." He 'd been terrified of her being on her own. What if she'd collapsed?

She'd looked at him with incredulous contempt.

"Do you really think I'm going to turn up at my parents house looking like this? What the hell are they going to think when they see me in this state? Perhaps you'd like to explain to them exactly what's happened to their precious little girl!"

He'd snapped then, furious that she was somehow twisting it round so that it was all his fault.

"Don't play that bloody game wi' me, Lizzie! You knew what you were getting into when you started this! I want you, you want me, remember?"

She said nothing for a second or two, gazing at him with those incredible silver eyes that had bewitched him for so long. He'd seen her lip quiver just for an instant before she'd let out a small, bitter laugh.

"Well, I don't want you any more, Gene, so just sod off home to your wife."

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He hadn't gone home, he'd gone looking for Ray, finally tracking him down in one of the pubs. Ray had been to the match and was celebrating the win with some of his mates. Gene had joined them, drinking heavily to try to wipe out the memory of the last few hours but nothing worked. Eventually, when everyone else left and it was just the two of them, they'd gone to one of the pubs where they knew they'd be able to drink after hours. The landlord at the Railway Arms knew better than to try and get coppers to drink up and leave at closing time.

Ray Carling was a good DC and a good friend, understanding exactly why he'd needed to keep drinking late into the night. He'd said nothing about Lizzie all evening and Gene had been grateful for that. He'd just stood at the bar with him, watching as Gene had drunk himself stupid. He wouldn't say anything to any one else either, that's how it worked; they were on the same team and they looked out for each other.

He'd had drunk himself to a standstill, and in the end, he'd barely been able to lift the glass to his mouth, his mind full of the terrible thing he'd done. He'd found himself starting to shake uncontrollably, and suddenly he couldn't keep silent about it any more, the words rushing from him an unstoppable drunken frenzy.

He'd told Ray everything. How he'd tried to talk Lizzie into keeping the baby, and how she'd laughed at him. How he was now no better than his bastard of a father was. That he was crippled with guilt every time he looked at his wife. He'd ended up hunched over in the corner of the bar, his head clutched tightly in his hands, with Ray hovering anxiously beside him, and the landlord tactfully polishing glasses safely out of earshot.

"I messed it up. It's all gone wrong…. all of it! Anyway, 's only what I deserve..... been a bastard. I always knew I was no bloody good! 's all my fault… the whole fucking mess!"

He'd stumbled from the pub, fleeing to the safety of the canal towpath as he'd felt the grief rising up inside him, and now, here he was, huddled in a doorway at some God awful hour of the morning, without any idea of what to do next. He looked up at Lizzie's darkened window again. There was nothing for him here; he didn't even know why he was still standing there, in the rain and the cold. Throwing his cigarette butt into the gutter, and wrapping his coat tightly around him, Gene began the long, lonely walk back home; back to his wife and the tatters of his marriage.

As he walked, self-loathing burned inside him, eating away at his guts. He knew he'd feel like this for the rest of his days. He knew what he was now; exactly who he'd become.


End file.
